


When the Clock Strikes Midnight

by purplemechanics



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abuse, Cinderella AU, abuse tw, aka my love, basically marinette is cinderella because she is good and pure and selfless, haaaa i suck sorry, haha please, i came up with this idea this morning at 11, please i'm so lonely oh god, read my goddamn story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplemechanics/pseuds/purplemechanics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She carries the heat of the palace ovens with her in her heart when she goes upstairs for the first time. She becomes a savior to the royal family, to the Kingdom, and an enemy to those who oppose it. When the clock strikes midnight, her red gown is gone, and she goes back to the kitchen where she belongs. Cinderella AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which exposition is a brutal heartbreaker.

**9 Years Ago**

 

 “Mama, mama!” Marinette shrieked with laughter as flour-caked fingers tickled her sides. “Wǒ méiyǒu gāodiǎn. _Méiyǒu_ _–_ ”

Marinette’s mother swooped the child up into her arms. “Shuí yǒu, Marinette?”

Laughter choked Marientte’s throat. “Bù zhīdào – _bù zhīdào_ , māmā –”

“Sabine!” A voice sharp and clear as crystal cut through the laughter. A blanket of silence smothered the room as Marinette looked up to see Solange Landry looming above her, wooden spoon poised threateningly in hand. “What did I say about speaking Chinese in the kitchen?” Solange wielded her position as the intolerable( and evidently _intolerant)_ Head of the Royal Kitchens as a sword, slamming down on those who were different. Marinette’s mother cast her eyes downward, and the pit of shame in Marinette’s stomach was set aflame with anger. “You want to say something, you say it to all of us. Understand?” Solange drew her words out as if she spoke with a mouthful of honey. Marinette’s mother nodded, and Solange narrowed her eyes. “Good.”

Marinette’s mother put her child down. “Go outside, Marinette. Go play outside. You can have a break.” The storm clouds in her mother’s eyes had been replaced by a defiant sparkle. Marinette laughed and kissed her mother’s cheek before spinning on her heal and bolting outside. “Don’t take too long, love!” called her mother after her.

Marinette could hardly hear her. She sprinted as fast as her small feet would allow down the path to the forest, through the trees, down by the river. She plopped down on her favorite rock and pulled her project, _Little Mari_ , out from the stone outcroppings. _Little Mari_ was a small doll that she was sewing for her mother’s birthday, to _prove_ to her mother that her stitches had gotten cleaner and nicer-looking. A mother that worked day and night and day again for those who had everything at least deserved to have something nice for herself, anyways.

It was no picnic in the palace kitchens. Marinette’s parents were never given respite, constantly toiling over those burning ovens and their contents. It was not an easy life they led, but a happy one. Marinette did the best she could to provide energy to her parents when they were worn and weary, to be the light in their darkness. The palace was an unyielding place, but Marinette was just enough to lighten the load.

Economic folly weighed down on them nonetheless. Prices were going up. Bread was becoming more and more expensive and the palace kitchens did not pay enough to be able to afford it. Times were trying, and the Dupain-Cheng’s had it a far cry better than most, even in their struggling. Marinette’s mother wouldn’t let her walk out in the streets anymore, for fear that someone would try and take anything she had on her, and for fear that Marinette’s kind and loving heart would not be able to bear the misery that she would witness.

Marinette felt her eyes begin to droop, her hands still over the stitches on _Little Mari_. “I suppose it wouldn’t be such a trouble if I took a nap,” she said to herself. “Mama did say a _break_ ,after all.” She set the doll aside and leaned up against the rock, only to wake hours later to a _boom_ and the sound of screams.

Something had happened. Something terrible was happening up at the castle. Marinette hauled herself up and took off down the path, _Little Mari_ lying forgotten at the edge of the river.

She arrived at the edge of the forest, lungs burning with exertion, wind-induced tears stinging at her eyes, to be greeted by smoke. Someone was still screaming, and there were clouds upon clouds of gray smoke billowing out of the kitchen door. Marinette thought she saw a lick of flame, someone was _still screaming_ –

“Mama!” she cried, tearing towards the door. “Mama! Baba! _Mama,_ _nī zài nǎ'er_ –”

“No, Marinette, no!” Ginette, a kitchen attendant, was suddenly at the door, frantically wrapping her arms around the small girl, coughing. “No, you can’t go in, you can’t, you can’t-”

“What happened? What’s happening, Ginette, _where are my parents_? I want them – I want my parents!”

Ginette was crying, she was inconsolable, clutching Marinette to her like her life depended on it. “Marinette, oh love, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry –"

Dread rose in her throat and shook her hands. “Where are they, Ginette?” 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so – Marinette, look at me, Mari, don’t look over there, don’t –”

Someone was carrying something out of the kitchen, covered in a wool blanket. It was a person, a shorter person; a charred and blistered hand tumbled out of the blanket, bouncing lifelessly.

“Marinette, an oven exploded. It was too hot, it exploded, Marinette, and your parents – they – oh God, how do I –” Ginette was crying again and someone was screaming.

“Where are they?” Marinette demanded. She already knew.

“They’re gone, Marinette. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Someone was screaming.

It was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is random but I really hope you guys like it?? Let me know if you do! If people like it I'll do more but iiiiiidk because my confidence in my writing skills is like a -5 so :))))


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the youngest Prince escapes his governess and finds himself in the Kitchen.

“Marinette, where are those tarts that the Prince keeps demanding?” A harsh voice came bellowing out from behind her. Marinette froze, her mind racing. _Ohhh no oh no oh no!_ She spun around to face Solange and smiled as brightly as she could.

“Oh, no, _mes excuses_ , Solange! It seems that in my haste to make everything else the tarts just escaped my –”

The sharp crack of a rolling pin on her skull echoed throughout the kitchen. Some of the attendants who had stopped to watch chuckled; others went on their way. “-mind. I’m sorry, Solange, I’ve just been so exhausted –”

“We’re all tired, little doll,” snapped Solange. “Try to keep up.”

Marinette nodded and turned back to her work, making a mental note to start the tarts just as soon as she was done with the bread. She rubbed the top of her head and winced. Her scalp was no stranger to Solange’s rolling pins.

“Oh Mari, you poor dear!” Marinette turned to find Alya by her side, kissing her cheek. Marinette laughed.

“It’s nothing, Alya. I deserved it. I should have started on those tarts by now –”

“Well, I’ll start them for you, then!” exclaimed Alya, busying herself with pulling out all of the necessary materials. “I finished my quota for the day, and their Majesties have already eaten dinner. Why don’t I –”

“Alya, you’re too kind for your own good. Go home and sleep,” insisted Marinette, not missing the purple shadows underneath her dear friend’s eyes.

Alya snorted. “You’re one to talk. Like you said, Mari, you’re _exhausted_. Just let someone help you for once, okay?”

Marinette hesitated, but at the determined glint in Alya’s eyes, she relented with a smile. “You’re too good to me, _mon amie_.” Alya laughed and kissed her cheek once again.

“You are worth it,” she declared.

“Wait, no – Waaaaaait!” A familiar shrill voice came bouncing through the corridors that lead to the kitchen. With a resounding ‘ _plop!’_ , the door had opened and shut and a little boy, no more than five or six, was struggling to keep the door closed.

“Alexandre!” exclaimed Marinette, setting down her dough and wiping her hands on her apron. “Don’t tell me you ran away from Ameline _again_!" 

“I won’t tell you then!” pouted the little boy, crossing his arms and stomping his foot. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, and she bounded over and swooped him up into her arms.

“Ameline is only trying to keep you safe, your Highness. I think if you give her a chance you’ll find she can be an extraordinary playmate.”

“She won’t let me have food!” he whined. “I’m so hungry, and she won’t let me have food!”

 “But your Highness, you just ate dinner!”

 “You sound just like Ameline!” cried the little Prince. “I thought you were on _my_ side, Marinette.”

 “Oh, I would never betray your Highness,” teased Marinette, gently whisking him over to where Alya was preparing the tarts. “How about we strike a deal, okay? If you wait until morning to eat, we’ll have some _delicious_ tarts for you. Sound like a plan?”

 Alexandre’s eyes lit up at the mention of the treats. He gazed at Marinette through suspicious blond lashes. “You promise?”

 Marinette nodded. “Would I ever lie to a Prince, your highness?”

 Ameline came crashing through the door. “Alexandre!” she cried in relief. Content with the promise of impending sweets, the boy untangled himself from Marinette’s arms and waddled over to his governess.

 “See you tomorrow, Marinette! Don’t forget!” he called over Ameline’s shoulder as she hauled him away.

 Marinette giggled as she waved. “Of course, your Highness!”

 By now, most of the kitchen attendants had hung up their aprons and left for the day. All that remained were Alya and Solange. “Don’t forget to lock the doors, Marinette,” growled Solange as she stalked out and slammed said door behind her.

 Marinette sighed. “Alya, you should go home, too. I can finish these in the morning before the Prince wakes up.”

 Alya turned to her slowly. “Mari, are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight?”

 Marinette did her best to smile. “I’ll be okay, Alya. I always am.”

As Alya left, Marinette took her place by the large hearth at the front of the kitchen, settling as close to the embers as she could without burning herself. She shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The room darkened, and she called out to sleep, the only place she could forget how truly alone she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yo I couldn't help myself. Here's part two! Excuse the brevity; upcoming chapters will be longer. Find me on tumblr: lameybug.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solange presents a warning and Marinette is presented an opportunity.

“Marinette, did you hear?” Alya bounded up to her, basket swinging at her hip.

Marinette glanced at it. “Did you pretend that you were coming out here to help me pick the berries just so you could gossip?”

Alya’s expression soured. “I’m not pretending! I really am going to help you… after I tell you something.”

Marinette grinned at her friend as she turned to pluck another plump berry from the prickly branches. “Do continue, then.”

Alya seemed as though she was going to burst with excitement. “Marinette, you’ll never _guess_! Oh, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, I’m – should I go? I don’t know if I should go. What good would it do? I mean, I myself couldn’t be a _suitor_ because I already have someone else in mind, but oh _Lord_ –”

“Alya, if it was so important –”

“There’s going to be a ball!” Alya hopped up and down and danced around her friend. “There’s going to be a _festival_ at the _palace_ for the _Prince_ for  _three nights_  and _everyone in the kingdom is invited_ and –”

Marinette didn’t hear anything else. Her ears filled with the sound of her own exclamation. “Wait –you mean… you mean _we_ can go?”

Alya nodded, eyes looking a touch wetter than usually, and threw herself into Marinette’s arms. “Oh, Marinette, won’t it be _wonderful_?"

There was a pulsating ring in her ears, an unfamiliar rush shooting through her veins that made every shape around her sharper, every color brighter. “ _We_ can _go_?”

Alya’s delighted grin answered and Marinette could barely contain herself. “Alya, we can – we can _go_!” She couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands; they were just fidgeting, moving, what should she _do_ with them – “ _We can_ -”

They spun around in each other’s arms, laughing, shouting. Marinette felt as though the joy bubbling in her throat might cause her to explode into a magnificent flame of sunshine. A sudden thought struck her, and she froze. “Oh, Alya, _Alya_ – I’m making our dresses! I can make our dresses, and it will be _fantastic_ , and –”

“Oh, no you don’t, _Cherie_ ,” chastised Alya, finding her way out of Marinette’s embrace. The baskets lay forgotten on the ground. “You’re going to make your own dress. We both know you don’t have the time or the materials to make two.”

“But Alya, what will you—" 

Alya held up her hand. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out. I always do.” She linked their arms. “We always do. Right?”

Marinette beamed at her friend. “I’ll do your sacrifice justice, Alya.”

Alya leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I know.”

 

00000

 

“You want to do  _what_?”

Marinette couldn’t help but wince at the harsh tone of Solange’s voice. She took a step back as the threatening kitchen Head walked towards her slowly.

“I could get all of the cooking finished before the ball,” she promised hastily. “I will. I’ll get everything done, I’ll get it all cleaned up, I’ll –”

Solange was so close that Marinette could feel her sour, hot breath, and her crystal blue eyes bore into Marinette’s soul. “Work is never finished in the kitchens,” she spat, but she leaned back and tilted her head. She considered the smaller girl in front of her. “Then again, if you manage to slip out at the end of the day, I don’t suppose you’ll really be missed by anyone.”

Marinette swallowed and nodded. Was that… permission? “I can go?” she whispered hopefully.

Solange’s hand jumped to clutch at her wrist, her bruising grip attacking the bones underneath Marinette’s skin. Marinette’s face flushed at the whimper that escaped her throat, and she held her breath. “You get an hour for each night that the ball lasts. After everything is finished up for the night. And if I find out any _funny business_ has been going on –” Solange’s grip tightened. Marinette shook her head frantically, _wishing_ that there was more light than just that of the ovens, and that not all of the other attendants were at _home_. Solange let go with a fling, and Marinette caught herself on the wooden rack behind her. “That’s what I thought.”

Solange glared at her for a minute, then turned and lumbered out of the kitchens, leaving Marinette to her own. Marinette’s fingers brushed across her the flesh of her wrist and she winced. There would definitely be some purple markings there tomorrow.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , she reminded herself as she stumbled towards her bed on the hearth. _I’m going to the ball_. _I’m going, I’m – I’m going to the ball._

All night she curled by the embers, repeating to herself. _I’m going._

_I’m going to the ball._

00000

 

“I’ll murder her,” mumbled Alya, crossing her arms across her chest. “Someday. Someday I’ll destroy her, and there won’t be a single thing anyone can do about it.”

Marinette sighed into her laugh. “It’s not that bad, Alya,” she promised as she pinned together a scrap of dark red fabric with a small strip of brown.

Alya’s nose crinkled as she watched Marinette’s nimble fingers pick through scraps of fabric and her eyes couldn’t help but wander to the angry blue-black markings on her wrist. “It shouldn’t be anything at all,” she muttered. “It shouldn’t exist.”

“Solange can do what she likes,” Marinette reminded her. “She’s in charge.”

Alya couldn’t find it in herself to respond. “Where did you find all of these scraps?” she queried instead.

Marinette giggled. “You’ll never believe it, Alya. You know Madeleine Périer, right? She lives towards the west end of the Villa?”

Alya leaned back against the wooden tabletop. “I know _of_ her. I’ve never really met her.”

Marinette continued to pin the fabric together, struggling not to use her hands to animate her speech. The fabric had started to spread out across the table into a comprehensible form. “Well, her mother works as a seamstress for the middle-class uptown, and oh, it was so sweet of them – her mother gave me all of her leftovers for the week since they have a new fabric shipment coming in soon!”

Alya huffed. “At least someone is kind to you.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out. “You’re kind to me.”

Alya threw her arms around her friend. “You deserve all of the kindness in the world, Marinette.”

Marinette smiled into Alya’s embrace. “Just think of it, Alya. We’ll finally be up there. We get to – to see what’s beyond all this, all this flour and oven fire. Maybe someday we’ll even go farther!”

Alya squeezed her. “I hope so, love. I hope you get your dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhh leave a comment let me know what you think :)))) find me on tumblr @lameybug


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette is going to the ball... but she isn't... but she is.

“Can I see it?” Alya had been standing at the door to the kitchen storage closet for the last ten minutes, tapping her foot impatiently. Sounds of shuffling and bumping around that could only belong to the endearingly clumsy Marinette answered her through the door.

“Hold on – just gotta – ah, there we go, and –”

Marinette burst through the door and Alya had to hold her breath. “Ta da!” Marinette exclaimed proudly, giving a twirl. She was clothed in a dress made of scraps; thousands of fabric scraps, and yet she had brought them all together in this _swirling_ , almost polka dotted pattern. All of the fabrics were harmonized, painstakingly sewn together in a flowing, ebbing tide. Her black hair was drawn into loose curls around her face and a crown of white flowers graced her temple. Alya couldn’t get the words past her throat.

Marinette’s brow furrowed at her friend’s silence. “Oh, do you – do you not like it? I mean, I, uh, well I…”

“No, Marinette, no! Gosh, I mean, you just –” Alya took a breath. “Marinette, you look absolutely radiant. There’s not a single eye in the room that won’t be drawn to you.” Marinette glowed with happiness.

“I’ve got some tough competition,” she declared as she admired Alya’s yellow satin gown. “You look like the sun!”

“And you’re the entire sky.”

Marinette laughed. “You go on up. I have to wait for these raspberry puffs to come out of the oven, and then I’ll meet you up there.”

Alya nodded, hugged her friend, and went on her way. Marinette couldn’t help but giggle as Alya left the room. What a _wonder_ , to finally have reached the night that she had so long dreamed of, to meet the _Prince_ , to look like a _Princess._

She pulled on her dirty heat-gloves and pulled the tray of raspberry puffs out of the oven. She leaned in and drew in a deep breath. _Delicious_. Everything was done, and wonderfully so. Everything had been cleaned up. She was all ready to go –

“Marinette?” She froze. Solange’s voice cut through the pleasant silence, causing a hurricane of sharp sound waves to assault her ears. She tried not to look too put off as she set the tray down and turned to face the Head.

“ _Oui, madame_?”

_Smack!_

Marinette gasped, stumbling backwards, and brought a hand up to her stinging cheek. “Do you think this is what I meant when I said _everything had to be done_?” Solange hissed, stalking ever closer to her.

Marinette was trembling. She didn’t know whether from fear or fury. “What else is there to be done?” she cried. “Solange, I’ve worked _so hard_ , I don’t know what else you could –”

 _Smack!_  

The other cheek.

“The _floor_ , Marinette, you useless _bête_! The floor is filthy, and you will be here cleaning it until it is shinier than _you_! Do you understand?”

Marinette squared her shoulders, looked Solange straight in the eye. “I’m going to the ball,” she said, hating herself for how her voice quavered. “I will do whatever you want me to do when I get back.” She steeled herself for a reaction. For a moment, Solange’s silence was the only one she got. Then a barking laugh pierced the room.

“Go to the ball, eh? Without a dress?” Marinette moved to back up again, but she was up against the counter. The tray of raspberry puffs fell; there was nowhere she could go. When Solange was angry, there was shouting, yelling, booming commands; this quiet was unpredictable and terrifying.

“I have a dress,” Marinette whispered, mustering up as much defiance as she could.

Solange lunged, and Marinette was too slow. A screeching rip rang through the air. “You can’t go without sleeves, my dear,” Solange commented, shoving the once-sleeves in Marinette’s face as proof. She would not cry. She tried to grab them from Solange, but Solange shoved her arms out of the way.

“Or a proper _hem.”_ Solange bent over and tore with all her might at the edge of the dress. It split, marring the swirling pattern with a gangly gap. Solange reached up to the waist of the bodice and dug her savage nails in, ferociously pulling and shredding. She would not cry.

Marinette yelped and tried to push the older woman away, but Solange was stronger, finally pinning Marinette underneath her. A small part of Marinette’s heart begged to smell alcohol, to sense intoxication in the woman before her; a _reason_ for the cruelty. She found none but a glint in Solange’s eye. She would not cry.

“You will stay down here and finish your work,” growled Solange, plucking the flower crown off of Marinette’s head and tossing it blindly behind her. She glanced at the tray of raspberry puffs, which were now scattered all over the floor. “And be sure to make more of those.” With a final shove, Solange turned on her heel and left the room.

Marinette felt as though she couldn’t move. She was frozen into place, shock her eternal companion. The combination of a chilly drift along the now bare section of her torso and the sound of a waltz being played in the far distance snapped her out of it, and all at once the air was too heavy. She had to leave, had to get out of there, she was _drowning_ –

She flew to the door of the kitchen and to the outside, her feet guiding her instinctively down a familiar path. The pinks and oranges of the setting sun lit the way down to the forest as she sprinted amongst the trees, both tall and small. She ran, running, running, but _where_ –

She stopped short when she realized where her feet had brought her. A small rock outcropping lay before her, a river gurgling by next to it. She had the feeling that she had been here many times before, but was in too frazzled a state of mind to recall. She made her way to the rocks and slowly settled amongst them, trying to process in her mind what had happened. Alya was waiting for her. Up at the ball. That she couldn’t go to. That she could _never_ go to, because she could _never_ escape Solange – She would not cry.

Her eyes flitted to a swath of blue fabric sticking out from under one of the rocks, and as an aspiring designer she couldn’t just leave a perfectly good piece of fabric lying around; so despite herself and her situation, she leaned over and picked it up. It was not just a swath of fabric. The fabric belonged to a dress on a doll, rather poorly stitched, but with a red smile sewn across its face. _Little Mari_.

Marinette keeled forward. She cried. Ragged, unyielding sobs tore from her throat as she clutched the doll to her chest, and this was all too _much_. “I can’t – I can’t _do_ this,” she hiccupped in between heaves. “Not without you, Mama. Not without you and Baba. _Please_.” Tears flowed into her mouth, and the salt made her shudder. “Please, if you’re listening, _help me_.”

She cried and cried for minutes more, though the heaviness growing in her head made her feel as though it had been hours. She only stopped when she felt the tiniest of weights on her shoulder. Was it… a leaf? A bug?

She turned to flick it away and hopped back in surprise. What had tapped her on the shoulder and fluttered before her now was a little figure about the size of her hand, with eyes as round as the moon, and with ladybug patterned skin. “Marinette,” the little figure said softly, and Marinette found herself not at all surprised that it could speak.

Nonetheless, she skittered farther away still, holding the doll tighter to herself. “How do you know me?” she demanded. “Who are you – um, if you don’t mind me asking, _what_ are you?” Her humility had caught up with her and a red blush spread across her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I – I really don’t mean to be rude, I just –”

The creature giggled, not unkindly. “It’s alright, Marinette. It’s not everyday you meet a fairy!”

Marinette tilted her head suspiciously. “Sorry, did you, uh – did you just say… fairy?”

The little red being fluttered around in the air in front of her. “Yup! Fairy godmother, actually. You’ve been chosen, Marinette! Congratulations!”

Marinette sniffed, wiping her nose on her wrist. “Wait, what? Chosen for what? What do you – you’re a _fairy_?” She couldn’t believe it. All of the stories that her mother had told her long ago, that she had since given up faith in, of fairies and magic and time – they were _true_.

The little thing giggled. “Yeah, I’m a kwami!”

“Oh.” Marinette didn’t know what that meant, but she was too awestruck to implore. “But wait, you said I’m – chosen? What do you – I don’t –”

“Allow me to explain.” The fairy settled on Marinette’s knee. “My name is Tikki. Like all kwami, my mission is to find the person that will best suit the needs of an impending situation. I’ve searched long and far throughout the kingdom, and it seems you’re the one for the job, Marinette!”

Despite Tikki’s joyful exclamation, Marinette was doubtful. “But what’s the ‘impending situation’? What do you need me for?”

Tikki’s demeanor shifted to one of grave solemnity. “I can’t tell you that, mostly because I don’t understand it. All I know is that you are _instrumental_. You might just play the biggest role in this kingdom’s history yet!” Marinette’s hesitation was not lost on the little fairy, so she lifted from her perch and placed herself in front of the girl’s tear-stained face. “Do you think you’re up for it, Marinette?" 

A beat. 

“This seems... important. I would be helping people?”

The fairy nodded.

Marinette responded in turn. “Then… then I’ll do it. I’ll do… what is it I’m doing again?”

Tikki grinned. “I’m going to transform you into a magnificent warrior. But first, we need to go to the ball.”

Marinette’s brain flashed her back to reality, the cool breeze of the night tickling her hair. “Oh! I, uh, I actually can’t. There are these, um, raspberry puffs that I need to make, and I have to clean –" 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” proclaimed Tikki, waving her little hand. “I’ve got it covered.”

“But – but I don’t even have a dress!” spluttered Marinette. “I mean, I did, but…”

Tikki winked. “Ready for your first transformation?”

“ _What_?”

Tikki answered by flying up towards Marinette’s ear. She squeaked and shuffled away instinctively, but something was already happening. There was this pink-ish _glow_ around her, an impossibly bright glittering light, and she felt herself slipping, falling _into_ something – she closed her eyes and hugged herself as tightly as possible.

In an instant, it was over. The rush, the wind that had surged up behind her, the light - everything was gone.

 _Marinette?_ Her head swung up as she looked around for Tikki. _No, no, silly,_ laughed Tikki’s voice, ringing inside her head. _I’m with you now. My essence is in your earrings._

“But I don’t have –” Marinette’s voice faltered as her fingertips reached up and proved her wrong, brushing across the little bumps planted in her earlobes. That wasn’t the only thing that was different; her hair was up now, the curls pulled back into what little of a twist their short length would allow. A single white flower rested behind her ear. She looked down and saw a dress – almost her dress, but not quite. This dress was a deep red, the silk expanses flowing out behind her like a sea of blood. She reached down to touch it and realized that her hands were gloved in black.

“Tikki,” she breathed. “ _How_ -”

 _Appreciate the magic while it lasts,_ Tikki’s voice warned inside her head once more. _The transformation can only last so long. You have until midnight, and then the transformation wears off._

“Okay. Okay, no big deal. It’s just _magic_. Whatever, right? So I just – I just go up there and – and do what, exactly?”

_You’ll know when we get there. For now just remember to be careful._

“Tikki, I’m not supposed to go. If anyone sees me there –”

 _Look at yourself_ _in the water_ , Tikki instructed.

Marinette shuffled over to the river, the glass of her shoes clicking against the rock soundly. She stifled what would be the nineteenth gasp of the evening as she reached up to feel the red and black polka-dotted mask that covered her face.

 _This way, you can keep your identity a secret and still get the job done_.

Marinette was speechless, but had to force herself to say something. “Tikki, I don’t know how to thank you.”

 _You already have, by agreeing to help me_.

“Do what, exactly?”

_You’ll find out when we get there! Let’s go!_

Marinette reached over and tucked _Little Mari_ underneath the same rock she had found it under. “I’ll be back for you, I promise,” she whispered. Then she turned to look up at the castle and took off towards it, glass slippers gliding her all the way up to the palace doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hahaha I actually hate this chapter a lot it sucks lmao sorry :) Find me on tumblr @lameybug


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette attends the ball and someone almost dies.

There were people everywhere. Carriages pulled up to the elegant marble steps and glamorous ladies ascended them. The white doors of the ballroom loomed high over Marinette’s head and her stomach twisted into a knot.

“Oh, Tikki, I don’t know if I can do this.”

Tikki didn’t hesitate. _But you_ can _, Marinette! This is what you were born to do! Now go out there and show them the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen._

Marinette blushed as she walked through the doors behind a trio of girls with pink plumes in their hair. She proceeded forward cautiously, finding herself at the top of a staircase that went down either side of her. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed down into the ballroom. Never in her _life_ had she been witness to such grandeur, such sparkling façade. The floor gleamed with the reflections of those who twirled and trotted over it and swaths of white fabric glittered at her from the columns lining the hall.

 _Marinette, I would suggest moving along!_ Tikki’s little voice skittered warningly. It snapped Marinette out of her reverie enough to notice the amount of people that were staring at her. The _vast_ amount. As she had stopped on the staircase, people had stopped around her to look, and she had never felt more as though she was under a looking glass. She hurried down the stairs and set to blending in amongst the partygoers as much as possible. She was the only one wearing a mask, after all. It was only natural that people would be intrigued.

A twinkling laugh rang in her mind. _They’re looking because you’re beautiful, Marinette_.

Before Marinette had the chance to respond, a flash of red hair caught her eye. Alya was standing not far from her, over by an ornate statue of the King upon the back of a horse, sword raised. She was talking with a boy in guard’s clothing, and every couple of seconds seemed to be tucking her hair behind her ears. Marinette grinned and stepped towards her, freezing only when she remembered that her identity was to remain a secret. With a sorrowful gaze, she turned away from her best friend. 

“Okay, Tikki,” she said under her breath, weaving her way through the crowd. “I’m here. What do I need to do?”

 _Nothing yet. The time will come for you to be of service, but until then, do as you please. You’ve earned it._

“ _Pardon_ , mademoiselle, if it be of impolite stature to inquire of your attire, but I find that I am unable to help myself. Why do you shield your face?” Marinette turned to find herself looking up into bright green eyes. She could feel her cheeks turning as red as her dress. _Thank Tikki for the mask._

“O-oh, I – um – your highness, sir,” she spluttered, lowering herself before Prince Adrien Agreste. Even though she knew logically that her identity was hidden, she was sure he would be able to recognize the young girl that had snuck out from her kitchen duties to watch him train with his duel master when they were children, all those years ago. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, not since she became old enough to know what her place was and where Solange’s rolling pin would land if she forgot. “I don’t – I – Well, you see, I, uh –”

The Prince laughed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You flounder as though it was obtained illegally. Should I to be worried?”

Marinette nearly stammered out an equally undignified response until she saw the teasing glint in his eyes. It calmed her, allowed her to collect herself. “No, sir, unless my seamstress is keeping secrets from me.”

He laughed again, and Marinette found herself thinking that if she heard this laugh more often her life would be the better for it. “But you are keeping secrets from me, _mademoiselle_.” He bowed with a flourish. “I am Prince Adrien Agreste, at your service. Who, may I inquire, are you?”

He was curious and something inside Marinette wanted to shrink away and hide her face because she knew that this was _wrong_ – he was the _Prince_ for Heaven’s sake, and she was a _kitchen attendant_ – but the part of her that wanted to answer grabbed hold of her vocal chords. “Where I come from, they call me Mademoiselle Coccinelle.” The words had slipped out before she had had a chance to filter them, and she could feel her spine stiffening. _Ladybug? Ladybug?! God, how_ stupid _could have I_ been –

Adrien hadn’t stopped looking at her. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, and through her gloves she could feel them brush ever so slightly against her. “Then I am entirely inclined to do the same,” he murmured, and despite her disguise Marinette felt like no one had ever been able to see through her quite like this. Something was happening in the room, or in her head, or just in the little corner of dance floor that they were taking up, but she could feel electricity surging through her veins and it was utterly too warm. His eyes were glowing, the greenest things she had ever _seen_ , and it seemed that his intent was to keep them trained on her all night.

Whether the strings had already been playing or not, Marinette hadn’t the slightest idea, but regardless, they began a new tune, an intricate waltz of swirling harmonies. The Prince hadn’t done much but stare at her for the past couple of minutes, so when he cleared his throat, she was startled. “Might I request a dance, my lady?” he asked breathlessly.

Tikki had said nothing. It seemed that Marinette was not yet needed. “The pleasure would be mine,” she replied genially, taking his hand and leading him herself onto the dance floor, as it didn’t look as though he was going to move himself any time soon.

As they twirled to the music, she mused that if she went back in time five years and told her younger self that the Prince’s hand would be _on her waist_ as he twirled her around in a ball gown, she would have died with excitement. The Prince hadn’t stopped watching her since they had begun dancing, so she watched him back, curious of his curiosity. The strings in the corner began another piece, and then another, and another, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. They kept dancing and she couldn’t remember exactly when Adrien’s shoulder had relaxed under her hand, but it had happened sometime during their dance. He was smiling, genuinely smiling now, and she couldn’t stop herself from doing the same.

“Why are you so happy, sire?” she dared to ask.

He chuckled to himself, his grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. “Look around, mademoiselle. They’ve noticed us.”

He was right. All around them, people had stopped dancing and shuffled to the side of the room to watch. It seemed that they were the only two left on the floor. “You-you’re happy? That everyone is just… staring?” she whispered frantically, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead at Adrien’s chest. This was all going terribly wrong. She was supposed to blend in with the crowd and not be seen. If anyone found out, if _Solange_ found out –

The Prince leaned in so that his mouth was closer to shell of her ear and her train of thought froze. “I’m happy,” he murmured, and she felt his breath, “because for the first time, _I don’t care_.”

Marinette’s mind couldn’t stop racing enough to figure out what he meant, but as they continued to twirl despite the stares, she found that she didn’t want to care either. After a few more waltzes, couples strayed back onto the floor and Marinette released a breath. At least now she was less conspicuous. “Sire, I do believe your sense of adventure-”

She trailed off. The Prince was staring at something over her right shoulder. She twisted back in time to see the retreating form of a blonde girl with a bright yellow gown. She could feel his form becoming rigid underneath her fingers, see his brow creasing. “Your highness?” she inquired.

He looked down at her surprised, as if he had forgotten for a moment that she was there at all. “My Lady,” he responded, letting go of her waist and lowering her hand. She already missed the warmth that had bled through her bodice where his hand had been. “I am afraid I will have to do you something of an injustice. Though there is nothing more than I would like than to stay here with you for the rest of the night, I am indeed finding myself needed in urgent matters of State. I beg your pardon.” With these words, he strode around her and towards the door she had seen the blonde girl retreat into. She twirled around, her lips parted a little foolishly, speechless. The Prince froze when she did, and spun back around to face her. “I will see you again?” he said hopefully. _Hopefully_. Marinette’s heart fluttered.

“There is no doubt,” she replied softly. His lips melted into a smile, and that’s all Marinette could think about as his form withdrew into the door.

 _Marinette!_ Tikki’s voice rang sharply in her mind, panic-stricken.

At the same time, a little boy in a navy blue tailcoat bounded across the room. “Alexandre, wait!” shouted a frantic governess, and Ameline burst from the crowd, looking vaguely like a bird with ruffled feathers. “Your highness, please, _Alexand-_ ”

 _Now!_ Tikki’s voice.

Alexandre’s running slowed. Ameline seemed to be chasing him through honey. All around Marinette, people were frozen, or hardly moving at all. The statue of the King that Alya had been standing by earlier was now behind the fleeing prince. It flashed red and black in her vision, and her feet somehow knew what to do. The “Look out!” was ripped from her throat as she hurled herself forward, gripping the boy underneath the arms and hauling him forward.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. A deafening crash sounded throughout the room, and someone screamed. Everyone was talking at once as Marinette pulled a sobbing Alexandre into her arms. She stared at the spot where she and the boy had been seconds ago, where the tip of the Statue-King’s sword now rested. The Statue had fallen over. The room was alit with chaos, with people rushing in and out and chattering and screaming, and Marinette heared what they were saying as she put the Prince down. “ _La Coccinelle,_ she _saved_ him – _she saved the Prince!_ ”

She couldn’t find the words to say; everything seemed to be stuck in her throat as Ameline rushed over and clutched the boy to her chest, sobbing dryly.

The clock began to ring. Marinette spun around to look at it. _12:00 P.M._

 _Marinette, you have to leave!_ Tikki warned.

Marinette didn’t need to be told twice. She gathered up her skirts and pushed through the pandemonium, the onlookers all too wrapped up in the chaos to stop her. She fought her way through bodies and sprinted as fast as she could up the staircase as the clock continued to ring. She stumbled a bit on the top step and skidded down three more. As the distressed sound she made harmonized with another chime of the clock, she looked up at it. Instead of the clock, her eyes found those of the King, who was standing next to his son. They pierced her with such intensity that Marinette found she didn’t have the strength or the time to hold the gaze. She pulled herself up and pushed the ballroom doors open. She tripped and fumbled outside, down around the back of the castle to the door of the kitchen, where no one would be watching.

_Eleven…_

_Twelve…_

She shoved open the kitchen door with all her might, and when she was safely inside she slammed it closed, finding herself to be in the same shredded homemade gown of a few hours before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whep it's here again. I have midterms this week so this is what I did instead of studying :) :) :) kill me
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Comment! Find me on tumblr @lameybug


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette attends the second night of the ball, another disastrous event occurs, and the author decides to start adding chapter summaries.

Night began to fall, and Marinette found herself striding up the stairs that led to the ballroom once more. She was back for a second night of royal protecting (according to Tikki, her “designated duty”) after a long day of dodging Solange, burning herself on the oven because she was too tired to pay attention, and longing to question Tikki. The small bug had found her by the fireplace that night, preparing to lie down and go to sleep.

Marinette had jumped up, pulling her shawl tighter around her corners. “Do you want to explain to me what happened last night?” she demanded.

Tikki held her tiny hands up. “I’m sorry I had to go, Marinette. There are time limits on transformations and I had to recharge elsewhere.”

“That’s not what I _mean_ ,” she had said, tugging at the roots of her hair, pacing in front of the embers. “Why did – what happened to _me?_ Why did everything slow down like that? The – the flashing? What was that about? And _how did you know any of it was going to happen?_ ”

Tikki had seemed to wait until she ran out of breath. Then she spoke. “It’s all part of being a kwami, Marinette. I know when people are going to need help, and I know who I need to help me with helping them.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying,” Tikki spread her hands helplessly, “that you were chosen by fate to protect someone. It seems, after last night, that ‘someone’ is the royal family.”

Marinette stared at her, trying to string everything together in her brain. “You really think… it was meant to be me?”

Tikki nodded without hesitation.

Suddenly Marinette felt that she could do anything. “Okay. Okay, sure. So, I’m the Royal Defender, or something. But, um, do you know exactly… _what_ I’m defending them against?”

Tikki’s little eyes darkened. “Not what,” she explained gravely. “Who.”

Marinette waited a beat. Tikki said nothing. “Okay then… who?”

Tikki shook her head, moving closer to Marinette. “I have an idea, but until I’m sure of it I’m afraid that I can’t share anything with you.”

“Wait – are you saying that what happened last night – that wasn’t an _accident_?”

And so here she was, standing back in front of the looming doors with the same red gown and mask. Her hands shook with anticipation. The air seemed different tonight; thicker, charged with a mounting tension. This time she had more of an idea of how monumental this occurrence was, and it scared her. She set her shoulders and her jaw and pushed through the doors. It didn’t matter that she was scared. All that mattered is that someone needed protection, and she had to be the one to do it.

_Ah, so_ that’s _your only goal for tonight,_ came Tikki’s voice.

“Hey!” Marinette protested, though she knew Tikki was right. A part of her was set on finding Adrien again tonight and speaking with him. He had taken off so suddenly last night and she couldn’t help but desperately wonder why. Had she said something disquieting? Was he upset she would not reveal her face?

As she made her way down the grand stairway, she noticed that people were, once again, staring. She pushed on, however apprehensively, her skirts ruffling and shifting around her. She paused at the bottom stair, waiting to see if the people would stop staring. They did not.

“ _La coccinelle!”_ a voice sounded out from the crowd. It was Alya. All at once, the room broke out into thunderous applause. “La coccinelle!” they cried. “ _Le sauveur!_ She rescued the Prince!” Marinette ducked her head and moved into the crowd. They seemed to silently agree not to let her blend amongst them, moving as a whole out of her way. Faces swarmed in front of her vision relentlessly, but no matter what she did she couldn’t focus on them. She felt them _burning_ into her, looking for answers, but what could she give? She had nothing, she _was_ nothing –

“My lady,” a breathless voice came from behind her. She spun to face the owner and found herself staring into the face of the very boy she had come looking for. No music played; the room was silent. “I understand,” Adrien said in a low voice, stepping closer so as to limit the amount of eager eavesdroppers that would hear, “that you granted my younger brother a few more years to live.”

Marinette curtsied as deeply as she could manage, cool glass pressing against the balls of her feet. “I should hope that I provided more than just a _few_ years, Your Highness.”

She could nearly feel the electricity-charged air crackle. The Prince’s face had taken on a distinctly red shade. He reached out his hand. “Dance with me?” He cracked a grin. “For old time’s sake.”

Marinette felt herself laughing, though in complete agreement with the sentiment that the last time they had danced had been entirely too long ago. She took his hand and he led her out onto the floor once more. The attention of the crowd was shifted to the music and so they began dancing as well, swirling around Marinette in an array of color and silk and light, but all she could see was the green of Adrien’s eyes.

He leaned in close to her and she half-closed her eyes, unable to focus. There was a silence between them and she startled her eyes open, realizing that he had said something. “Sorry, what?”

“Could I oblige you to step outside for a moment?”

She couldn’t breathe, but she nodded anyways. They made their way through the dancers and out into a shining column-lined hallway. The music seemed far away now, echoing through the marble halls like a memory. She kept her eyes downcast, not quite trusting herself to look up at him.

He was wringing his gloved hands and she couldn’t fathom as to why he would be uncertain about anything. “What you did,” he started. “We – I don’t – er, I…”

His fumbling instilled enough confidence in her to look up. He looked quite like he didn’t know what to with himself. “I,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m not sure how to say this.” He reached up to scratch the back of his neck and seemed to look off into the distance.

“You needn’t hesitate to be candid,” Marinette uttered softly, curiosity fanning the fires of bravery that burned out any logic inside of her. _He is an actual prince._ Burnt. _You are nothing_. Burnt. _You ought to be on your knees_. Incinerated.

Her words snapped him back to reality and he bowed his head sheepishly. “Of course, my lady. What I mean to say is that my family, we can never repay you for what you have done. You have saved a life, one that is very dear to me.” He was still struggling to find the words. “But I cannot – I just wonder… how? How did you do it?”

Marinette could feel a flush creeping up her neck, engulfing her throat in the flames that had been so helpful but a moment before. Stealing her voice.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” she replied breathlessly, tracing the marks in the marble wall with her eyes. “I saw the statue falling, I ran forward, and I grabbed him.”

“Is that all?” Adrien pressed. “How did you get there so fast? You seemed to see the statue falling before it even started. How did you know?”

Her heart leapt up into her throat, her breathing constricted. There was no way he could know, no way he could have an _idea_ , right? She wouldn’t be found out – especially not by the very _head_ of the _law_ –

Before she could stop it, a nervous laugh flittered out from between her lips. “I suppose I am blessed with instantaneous reflexes.”

“Then why did you run?”

The question was thrown into the air as a flower petal, and frozen there. She knew the music must still be playing somewhere, but she couldn’t hear it due to the blood roaring in her ears. She wanted to be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere cool, like the North Pole.

_Remember the mask_ , Tikki’s voice floated through her mind. _You are protected by the mask. You’re free here to be whomever you wish_.

Marinette squared her shoulders at these words and looked Adrien in the eyes. There was no way the Prince would ever know who she was during the day. Right now, she was La Coccinelle and she would _not_ be afraid.

“The truth?” she mused. “When the clock strikes midnight, I become a different person. La Coccinelle is who I must be as long as I stay here.”

He reached down to take her hand in his. _Burning_. His eyes remained locked with hers until the moment he bent to kiss her hand. “Then I hope you remain La Coccinelle until the very minute before midnight,” he murmured, something in his voice so low and so sincere that Marinette couldn’t look away.

She could feel more questions burning inside of him, but for whatever reason, he seemed to douse them, and in doing so doused the fire that had been consuming her. All at once, she felt the weight of interrogation lift off of her shoulders and be replaced by a feather-light breeze. She smiled. “Shall we continue, then?”

His hand was on her waist before she even had time to finish, a glimmering grin spreading across his face that made him look five years younger than he had moments before. She could see flecks of gold lighting up his bright green eyes, struck once again by how truly beautiful this boy was. They could hardly hear the music as they stepped and pushed and pulled, intent only on each other. What _was_ this electricity, this rawness that she felt whenever he looked at her? Their faces were getting closer and she held her breath, he was so _close_ –

_It’s time to go back to the ballroom._ An impending sense of foreboding punched Marinette in the lower abdomen as Tikki’s voice rang in her ears. She pulled back from the Prince as though she had been shocked. “Oh,” she choked, eyes wide, not missing the furrowing brow of the boy before her. “I’m sorry, I— something’s _wrong_ , I have to – I’m sorry –” she shouted over her shoulder, lifting up her skirts as she ran down the hallway, fumbling. The Prince stood still for a moment, and then bolted up to follow her.

“These – these _skirts_ , Tikki, they’re in the _way_ , I _can’t_ –” Marinette whispered frantically.

“Wait – wait, _Coccinelle_ -” she heard Adrien cry from behind her.

She shuffled to a stop at an opening to the ballroom. The King sat at the head of the room on a throne. He raised a chalice to his lips and like the night before, time slowed.

_You know what you have to do_. Tikki’s voice drifted across her consciousness. She rushed forward; everyone around her was still. The chalice flashed red and black and she lifted her hand to knock it out of the way. It clattered to the floor, the red liquid inside staining the marble floor beneath it. The liquid dripped out of the cup for a second while the rest of the world remained frozen. Her labored breathing was the only sound.

All at once, everyone was moving again. Marinette stumbled backwards, her skirts feeling like dead weights. Adrien appeared beside her, his wide eyes flashing back and forth from her to the chalice to the King’s unchanged expression. It seemed that, once again, they had attracted an impossibly large crowd. The king flicked his hand and two guards rushed to grab Marinette by the elbows, their rough hands digging into her flesh like splinters. “Wait, no! Please, I-”

“Coccinelle,” the King said, his face as impassive and cold as it was before she had knocked the chalice from his hand. “Do you wish to explain yourself?”

Marinette could feel her hands shaking, and the guards were holding on so tightly to her that it _hurt_. “Majesty, I- I can’t, uh, I -” she stammered, voice trembling. “Something – something’s wrong. With the wine. Something’s _wrong_.”

The King shook his head. “Impossible. All that I consume is tested before it reaches my lips.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you presume to put on a show to maintain your heroic title?”

“I- I – _no_!” she spluttered indignantly, hastily adding “Sire. It’s just that – Your Majesty, something _is wrong with that wine_.” She prayed that Tikki had some sort of ambient kwami magic that prevented her from being wrong about these sort of things.

_Tell them it hasn’t been properly fermented. Tell them that someone switched out the bottle that was used to fill the King’s cup_ , Tikki supplied.

When Marinette relayed this information to the King, he only seemed more suspicious. The guard on her right jostled her and she winced. “Hey, hold on!” demanded Adrien.

"How would you know this unless you yourself had switched it?” the King probed.

“Father, _she saved Ale_ -” The King held up a hand, and Adrien’s mouth closed.

Marinette nearly huffed in frustration. “With all due respect, if I wanted to kill you I wouldn’t have _knocked away the murder weapon_.” Her eyes widened at her own impudence. “Uh, sire.”

The King turned over his shoulder and mumbled something about the bottle to the man standing at his side. Within a minute a skinny man with greasy black hair produced the bottle of wine that had filled the King’s chalice. “She’s right, sire,” the greasy man said in amazement. “Someone has switched the bottle. This wine, it –“ he smelled it, and gagged “it’s toxic. Could you not smell it, your majesty?”

The King’s eyes hardened. “I have something of a cold. So it really was harmful?”

The greasy man nodded. The King glanced to the guards holding Marinette and waved at them to let her go. “I don’t know who is responsible for this,” he muttered. He looked Marinette in the eye, and she felt once again as though she might as well have not been wearing any mask at all. “But what I do know is that this is the second time in a matter of days that you have saved my family from certain destruction. Tell me, Coccinelle,” his hand twisted, “Why?”

Marinette rubbed her elbows sourly, certain that they were as angry red as her dress. The answer seemed obvious to her. “It is my duty, your Majesty. I am La Coccinelle, protector of the Royal Family.”

The King glanced at Adrien, then back at Marinette. “I suppose, then –”

The clock struck. Marinette spun around, gasping at the sudden chime. “I’m sorry, I –” She moved to flee. The two guards that had jostled her blocked her way. She turned to face the King.

_Two_.

“Monsieur, please, I beg of you,” she cried.

_Three_.

“Let her go.” The strong voice that responded was not that of the King, but Adrien, who seemed to speak to both his father and the guards. He had a knowing glint in his eyes, a grave set to his jaw. The guards looked to the King for permission.

_Four_.

After a moment of internal deliberation, the King nodded his head. Coccinelle was allowed through.

_Five_.

She raced through the crowd, jumping over stray feet that inadvertently attempted to trip her and around the hands that not-so-accidentally tried to grab her.

_Six._

She flew up the staircase, the click of her glass shoes drowning out the chatter below.

_Seven_.

At the top, she noticed Adrien’s eyes watching her more intently than anyone else’s. The green bore into her soul, and once again she wasn’t strong enough to hold the gaze.

_Eight_.

She shoved the doors open, narrowly avoiding tripping over some haggard drunks outside. She raced down the path to the kitchen door, out of sight.

_Nine_.

She tripped on her skirts. They tore.

_Ten._

Her erratic heartbeat sped faster and faster as she stumbled towards the kitchen door. She was unable to shake the feeling that someone was _watching_ her, that someone _knew._

_Eleven_.

She flung the door open, flung herself inside.

_Twelve._

She blinked.

La Coccinelle was gone.

Only Marinette remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol so yeah if anyone reads this sorry that it's been SO FREAKING LONG. It's break now so I'll do my best to get caught up (maybe... AHEAD of the GAME??) on my writing. Anyways I'm visiting colleges all week and driving a ton so I'll get something done in the car probs.


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